


hearts on fire

by quarterelf



Series: big gay werewolf au [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Animal Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, Minor Original Character(s), Nonbinary Character, Other, Werewolves Turn Into Actual Wolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-03 23:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15829287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quarterelf/pseuds/quarterelf
Summary: bryce meets a wolf in the woods.or,the one where caduceus is a big ass werewolf.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> back on my bullshit with this pairing and gonna write the self-indulgent woof au no one asked for.

The Crownsguards are little more than five miles from the town walls when the heavy snow begins to fall, coming faster than Bryce and their guards can follow the little girl’s tracks. Bryce shrugs their cloak higher against their neck to block the new chill seeping into their armour. Tilda Weber has been missing all morning, having escaped her parents’ house and fled into the woods after they had a, _ah_ , somewhat loud dispute. The dispute had thankfully been settled, one of Bryce’s least favourite parts of working as a Crownsguard, but now there is the matter of a lost child, which isn’t a much better task.

“Aye, best to turn back now, Watchmaster,” say one of the guards, Agatha, a sturdy human woman with strands of grey in her auburn hair. “Won’t be able to see much in all this shite.”

Bryce shakes their head, a lock of blonde hair escaping its bun, and draws their lips into a thin line. “I want to look a little longer. Tilda won’t last the night out here,” they say. Their words turn to little clouds of white on the cold air. “And she can’t have gone much further than this.”

“She’s only about, what, I’d say, eight?” muses the other guard, a young human man named Reggie. He rubs the dark stubble on his chin in thought. “She’d be tired by now, maybe even found somewhere to stop and rest.”

Agatha looks between them and sighs softly in resignation. “Where now then?”

Bryce doesn’t want to be the one to explain tracking is much more than following a few clear footprints in the mulch. They’re a half-elf, after all, with unmistakably elven ears, and all the implications those carry amongst the humanfolk. People naturally just assume Bryce would be “one with nature”, even though they had been raised by their human mother and learnt all they knew about hunting from her. They brush those thoughts aside now as they kneel down in the snow to inspect some curiously broken branches. Not the work of the local wildlife, then, but a scared little girl. 

“This way,” says Bryce, pointing north-west. The guards exchange a look and silently follow behind them.

In under an hour Bryce has the trail again, little footprints made in the freshly fallen snow. These are soon joined by another set of prints, ones from such massive paws that it makes Bryce’s heart twist in their chest remembering the gnoll raid. Their heart twists more when the girl’s footprints disappear altogether, replaced by only those worryingly large ones. Bryce doesn’t want the guards to fear the worst, so they say nothing, continuing to lead the hunt. 

But there, finally, up ahead and under a rocky outcrop, is little Tilda in the arms of the biggest wolf Bryce has ever seen, so still she might have been asleep if not for the blood staining the wolf’s great maw and paws. So that was how Tilda met her end. In a heartbeat, their hand flies to the sword at their waist, ready to slay the creature. The guards at Bryce’s left and right mimic the movement, their swords all angled at the sleeping wolf’s throat.

Then the most curious thing happens: Tilda opens her eyes and nuzzles into the beast’s grey fur, and the wolf _lets_ her.

“Tilda!” Bryce cries out in relief. “Come away now, child!”

“‘Tis very cold,” says Tilda. Her eyes grow wide as she takes in each of the Crownsguards now, their drawn longswords glinting in the noonday sun.

Hm. There’s no use scaring the poor child, is there? Against their better judgement, Bryce gestures for Agatha and Reggie to fall back and slips their own sword in its sheath as they approach Tilda, boots crunching in the fresh snow. “Here, take my cloak,” they offer gently, unclasping it and stretching it out like a blanket to the girl. The cloak is regulation, a deep maroon fabric lined with a bit of fur, just warm enough for the winter months in Alfield.

After a long moment, Tilda hesitantly leaves the wolf’s embrace and staggers toward Bryce. They take a step forward, then another, meeting her halfway, and wrap the cloak around her shivering little body.

“There, there, sweetness,” says Bryce softly, patting the snow from her hair. “You’re safe now.”

“Watchmaster? The wolf…” comes Agatha’s voice behind them.

Bryce looks up sharply, one hand instinctively tightening around Tilda and the other going to their longsword, gloved fingers itching as they brush against the hilt. The wolf is standing now, asserting itself as even more massive than it looked curled under the outcrop. It’s terribly thin, too, and Bryce wonders why the thing hasn’t been getting enough to eat. Bizarrely enough, its tail is _wagging_ , and happily, so much like a dog’s that it makes Bryce laugh behind their hand.

They’ve never seen anything like it. They’re suddenly reminded of an old mutt they had taken in as a child in Zadash. How they had loved that dog. “I don’t think it means any harm,” says Bryce with a confident nod.

“If you say so, sir,” says Agatha, sheathing her sword obediently. Reggie follows suit.

“Just keep an eye on it as we leave, don’t want our backs exposed,” Bryce tells her, gently prodding Tilda to start walking in the direction of town.

The wolf, however, isn’t done with them. It pads through the snow, straight up to Bryce, and gently paws at their leg. Bryce looks at their guards helplessly but only receives a few amused shrugs.

“Think you’ve made a new friend, Watchmaster,” says Reggie, looking as if he was trying his damnedest not to grin seeing his superior in such a predicament.

“I… suppose I may have…” Bryce tentatively sticks a hand out toward the creature and watches in amazement as it butt its head up against their gloved palm. “What a strange beastie you are.”

The wolf just wags its tail even harder, sending little flurries of snow through the air.

“Well then,” Bryce begins awkwardly, trying to back away from the wolf. Again the wolf crowds them. “Carry on, Crownsguard.”

The four of them head back through the woods with a wolf following them all the way.

*

The wolf is even stranger than Bryce had first thought. It doesn’t turn away at the edges of the farmlands, though farmers and their children gather at the road to watch this strange procession; it doesn’t turn away when they arrive at the outskirts of the town proper either. No, it dutifully trails right behind Bryce like a second shadow even as they climb the stone steps to the Crownsguard stockade to report today’s events.

Bryce is as amused as they are bewildered. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait here,” they tell the wolf, giving it an awkward pat on its huge grey head. Somehow the wolf seems to understand them quite clearly; it hunkers down at the entrance of the building and rests its long snout on its paws. “Don’t look at me like that,” they say softly, turning away from the wolf’s big pleading eyes.

When Bryce returns not but an hour later, the wolf is still waiting in the same spot, being prodded at by a group of children with long sticks. For some reason, the wolf does nothing to defend itself, merely lying there and taking the abuse.

“Hey!” Bryce shouts and waves their hands wildly. “You leave that beast alone!”

Immediately the children drop their sticks and scatter, some giggling and some yelling apologies. Bryce watches their receding backs, shaking their head disapprovingly, and then turns to the poor wolf.

“They didn’t hurt you did they?” asks Bryce softly. The wolf just wags its tail slowly in answer. “Good. I suppose you’re going to follow me all the way home, so come along then.”

They flick their hand and the wolf is up in an instant, tail wagging harder as it trots to their side. Just like a dog it butts its head up against Bryce’s hip, seeking some kind of attention. Bryce sighs, “ _Very well_ ,” and scritches its big head.

Bryce swears the wolf _smiles_.

*

The wolf is so well-behaved that Bryce thinks surely, _surely_ it must have belonged to someone, a traveling carnival or poachers, _anything_. Perhaps the owner died and the clever wolf escaped into the wild on its own. No matter its origins, the wolf is apparently here to stay by Bryce’s side. It becomes a familiar sight in Alfield, Watchmaster Bryce and their skinny pet wolf trotting along, making the rounds or taking to the woods for hunting.

For some reason, though, the wolf won’t eat a thing Bryce gives it. They try everything they can think of: dried strips of meat, raw leftovers from the butcher, the tenderest loins of a deer dressed in the woods. The wolf just whines softly and turns its nose up. Its ribs show more and more with each passing day.

“Come now, you must eat something. You must eat for me,” Bryce begs at their little dinner table, dangling a big juicy venison steak over the wolf’s head. The wolf looks at the steak sadly and curls around their chair with a huff. “Oh, what are we going to do with you, my friend?”

Bryce sighs and pushes a slice of bread around the edge of their plate. Then it hits them. How could they have been so stupid? They quickly tear the bread in half and offer _that_ to the wolf, hardly believing it will work.

Miraculously, the wolf sniffs at the meager offering and then quickly gobbles it up in one bite. Bryce could cry tears of joy. They hurry to the kitchen, fetching the rest of the loaf of bread, and bring that to the wolf, too, watching elatedly as it eats every last crumb from their hand.

“You sweet creature! You had me so worried…” Bryce takes its massive grey head between their hands and covers it in wet, sniffling kisses. The wolf happily licks their face in return. Oh, things were going to be just all right now. 

*

“I should give you a name,” says Bryce one evening, curled up at the fireplace with their wolf. They rest their head against its huge rib cage, listening to the steady thrum of its heart and the gentle inhale and exhale of its breath. “What do you think of that?” 

The wolf just huffs.

“I was thinking Hobkins, after my first dog,” Bryce explains with a gently laugh, thinking of the fey creature that shared that name, a blue-grey gremlin with huge ears on its round, immense head. “He had quite a large head, you see, and I was a silly child...”

They turn to look at the wolf to catch the strangely displeased look on its face. “All right, all right. There will be no reusing names then. What about Shadow? Since you do so love to follow at my feet.”

This time, a soft whine emits from the wolf’s throat.

“Hmmm, perhaps you already have a name? Is that it?” asks Bryce as they reach up to curl their fingers through its thick fur. This time the wolf thumps its tail on the ground. It’s almost like having a real conversation, and Bryce treasures this companionship. “Ah! I see. I shall endeavour to discover your true name then.”

Eventually, Bryce dozes off in front of the fire, safe and warm in the embrace of the wolf.

*

It’s so very cold when Bryce wakes up on the old rug in the parlour. The fire has gone out, and there is no wolf in sight to keep them warm. Something doesn’t feel right somehow, but they whistle softly all the same, trying to call their furry friend to their side. There is no answer. No excited whining or paws scurrying across the floorboards. Nothing.

Bryce climbs to their feet, careful to not make a sound, and peers around the room. No signs of the wolf’s escape either, no broken doors or windows. Not a thing out of place. How bizarre.

And then—a clatter in the kitchen and someone swearing gently.

Instinctively their hand goes to the longsword at their waist only to clutch at empty air. Mind racing, they hurry to grab a sword from the rack at the front door and head into the kitchen prepared to confront a very foolish burglar.

Instead they find standing in their kitchen the tallest man they’ve ever seen. And he is _completely naked_. The sword in their hand wavers in their confusion.

“What are you doing in my home?” they demand, looking anywhere but below his waist.

“Don’t you recognize me?” asks the man. He peers down at his nakedness for a long moment before shrugging. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Not like this.”

There is a strange tightness in Bryce’s chest. Something _is_ familiar about this man but they can’t quite put a finger on it. Instead, they say, “Explain yourself,” and lower their sword. After all, how much threat could a naked giant truly be?

“The wolf and me… we’re one and the same,” says the man. He traces a huge curved scar over his hip, a telltale bite mark. “I only really need to change during the full moon but… I liked being a wolf. For you. Do you understand now?”

Bryce inhales sharply. “You’re a werewolf.” Immediately their mind brings images to the surface of bathing the wolf, feeding it from their plate, even letting it keep them warm in bed... _Oh_. A faint blush creeps over Bryce’s cheeks now at those memories.

“That I am,” admits the man.

“I… need a moment.” Bryce sits on the floor, setting their sword down beside them, and puts their face in their hands. They had been taught that werewolves were wild, wicked creatures. “A _werewolf_. A damn—” They look up at the man and don’t find _any_ such wickedness there. “No wonder I found you such a strange creature. You were… whatever you are. This whole time.”

“I’m a firbolg,” the man informs them gently. It hardly feels like it matters now.

“A firbolg then. Why did you lie about your true form?”

The firbolg hums in thought for a long moment. “Yes, I suppose that was a sort of lie, wasn’t it? I’m sorry. I’ve been cursed all my life, like my mother before me. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which is the real me, the man or the wolf.”

Bryce laughs, high and wild in their throat. “Why me then? Why follow me and enter my home?”

Another deep hum. “You didn’t try to kill me,” he says simply with a shrug. “I’m rather grateful for that.”

“Of course. That afternoon in the woods… you were protecting little Tilda Weber. I could see that.”

The man just nods. “Now that you’ve discovered me, I think it’s best that I leave. I can become the wolf and you can let me out quietly. Right now. No one would need to know otherwise.”

Bryce rubs their tired eyes. This is far too much to process at any hour but especially the small hours of the morning. “What if… I don’t want you to go?” they ask, scarcely above a whisper. There is a sudden feeling of dread gripping their heart at the thought of their wolf leaving them. “What if I need time to consider… what to do with you?”

A slow, sleepy smile spreads across the man’s face. “Then I’d be happy to oblige.”

Bryce looks away now, face warm. The man is, after all, still very naked. “What do I call you?”

“Ah! Caduceus. Caduceus Clay.”

Bryce bites their lip in thought. “Could you… could you change right now, Caduceus?”

What happens next is something Bryce doesn’t think they’ll ever be able to get out of their head. Caduceus hunches over, panting hard as his bones begin to slide and pop under his skin. His skin, already covered in a layer of soft grey hair, erupts with long tufts of fur. He falls down to his knees now, struggling for breath as the bones of his face crack and then rapidly elongate.

In a matter of excruciating seconds the firbolg has become a wolf. The wolf, _their_ wolf, Bryce’s trusted friend and companion. They get to their knees now and shuffle closer, heart beating faster and faster, threatening to escape the cage of their ribs.

“Come here…” Bryce hesitates, the next word sticking in their throat. “ _Caduceus_.” 

The wolf carefully steps forward. Bryce holds its— _his_ —gaze, stares back into those pale, intelligent eyes. Then they throw their arms around Caduceus’ neck and bury their face in his neck.

“Whatever you are, I think I shall continue to call you my friend,” they whisper into his fur.


	2. Chapter 2

Bryce has a terrible dream that night. In it the wolf is made of shadow like the blackest night, its eyes red and maw slavering with ropes of saliva and blood. It grows bigger and bigger to match the fear growing in Bryce’s heart, stretching across the entire room, until it blots out their entire world. There is nothing but that darkness. There is nothing but that great and terrible mouth, snapping open and shut. It moves in as if to swallow Bryce whole and then—and then—

Their eyes flutter open to a room grey with morning. The wolf— _Caduceus_ , Bryce reminds themself—is curled up beside them, taking up most of the bed. Tentatively they reach out to touch his thick grey fur, enjoying the soft feel of his winter coat beneath their fingers. Not a wicked bone in his body, they think with a touch of old affection for their former pet. Caduceus stirs then, blinking back at them with those large, intelligent eyes. The eyes of a firbolg and not a beast.

“Good morning,” says Bryce, almost shyly. Caduceus turns to lick their hand in an easy, familiar greeting, big tongue easily spreading across their entire palm, and Bryce quickly withdraws it. Twin spots of pink burn into their cheeks. Bryce has the briefest image of Caduceus, Caduceus the man, licking up their fingers and quietly burns at it. “I would rather you didn’t… Now that I know what you really are.”

Caduceus ducks his head under his enormous paws. At least he has the good sense to be a little embarrassed to match the shame Bryce feels all the way down to their belly.

“Old habits, I suppose, but we’ll have to adjust,” Bryce explains briskly, throwing the covers back and climbing out of bed. They go to their wardrobe and pull down their Crownsguard robes, setting them out for the day, and begin to undress in front of the wolf as they always do. They have their nightgown down around their arms when they realize.

 _Hm._

Old habits, indeed. Bryce turns away now, peering at him over their scarred shoulder, arms over their chest. “All this time you’ve been watching me change, too. I hadn’t thought about that.”

With a whine Caduceus stuffs his head under the pillows. Chuckling, Bryce takes it as an apology. They’re sure he meant nothing by it in the past, accustomed to living as an animal, but… things would begin to change around here, slowly but surely.

After a quick breakfast, in which Bryce lets Caduceus lick their bowl of porridge clean, it's off to the stockade. A thick snow has fallen overnight, and the roads on Bryce’s side of town haven’t been cleared yet, so Bryce lets Caduceus bound ahead, stepping lightly in the cavities his massive paws have made. Once at the stockade, there is a flurry of activity, and all the Crownsguards look particularly frayed around the edges this morning.

“What goes on?” Bryce asks one of the guards, quietly pulling him aside.

“Lawmaster is in a right tizzy over the boar, sir,” the guard whispers, looking around carefully no doubt for signs of Starosta Kosh in the halls. They had lost their proper lawmaster in the gnoll attacks earlier that year and Rexxentrum hadn’t seen fit to send a replacement yet. The scar on Bryce’s abdomen aches faintly at the memory.

“The… boar?” repeats Bryce, not quite sure they heard him right.

“Aye,” says the guard. “Not like anything I’ve heard of or seen around these parts, sir.”

As it turns out, there is a wild boar terrorizing the woods of Alfield. And not just any boar, but a giant of its kind, standing as tall as a man, with tusks as long and sharp as swords. The guard swiftly fetches them the reports from yesterday when the attacks first started.

“That will be all, thank you,” says Bryce, flipping through the layers of parchment. Already they’re drawing up plans in their head of a hunting party to dispatch of the beast, a strange coolness gripping their chest.

*

Sometimes Caduceus is the wolf and sometimes he is the man. The first order of business, though, is to keep him clothed when he’s the man, and there is _quite_ a lot of man to cover. Caduceus has his big hands over his crotch now to hide his nakedness, slowly stepping from side to side like a child banished to the corner, while Bryce digs through a trunk of old clothes they’ve dragged into the bedroom. They had meant to give them to their neighbours—a family with two fast growing boys—to patch up but there is obviously a more, _erm_ , pressing need.

“It’s cold in here,” Caduceus says gently as he watches them pull out tunics and trousers and jerkins, each more worn than the last.

Bryce can’t help but laugh while putting their finger through a hole in one of their old tunics. “Middle of winter, and you’re naked as an elfling. Of course it’s cold.”

“Hmmm,” says Caduceus in that slow, measured way of his. Bryce thinks they could get used to the sound of his voice, the deepness and easy candor of it. “Fair point.”

Finally, Bryce dumps the clothes on the bed and gives them a little pat for good measure. “Here, try these on then.” Caduceus, however, just gives them a curious look and doesn’t budge an inch. “What’s the matter?”

Caduceus clears his throat. “Well, I thought we had an unspoken rule now… about not seeing each other naked? Was I wrong to assume?”

Oh. That. Bryce can practically feel the blood rush into their face. “Of course. You… just let me know when you’re ready.”

They quickly turn to the wall, suddenly and deeply fascinated by the wainscot, definitely not listening to the soft sounds of Caduceus padding forward or the rustling of fabrics. It does not occur to them at all that Caduceus’ naked skin is brushing against their own clothes. Certainly not.

After several minutes, Caduceus’ voice shakes them from these tortuous thoughts: “How do I look?” 

Bryce takes one look over their shoulder and bursts into a fit of laughter. While Caduceus is thin enough to fit in their old clothes, he still has at the very least a good foot and a half on them, and it shows in just how many inches of grey skin show on his arms and legs where the hems abruptly stop. Far more interesting, though, is the shock of white fur that trails down his abdomen, disappearing into Bryce’s too short trousers.

Caduceus, however, doesn’t mind in the slightest. “They feel nice,” he remarks gently, smoothing his hands over the fabric with a quiet sense of wonder. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had anything proper to wear. Never had a reason to, you see.” 

“Yes, well,” Bryce comes over now, trying to tug his tunic a little further over the faded bite mark on his side. “This is only for around the house. You can’t let anyone see you otherwise. I can’t have them—" _taking you away_ , “... asking too many questions.”

“Far too many questions to ask,” Caduceus agrees. Bryce just nods, a nameless feeling sticking in their throat. 

“I already have my hands full with work. I don’t need my hands full with…” They trail off, suddenly aware that their hands are resting against Caduceus’ abdomen. “...the mysterious appearance of...” He feels solid under their fingers, and _oh so_ warm. “A firbolg,” they finish softly.

“I know how to stay hidden, don’t you worry about me,” replies Caduceus, just as softly, smiling down at Bryce; Bryce doesn’t know why that smile should make their heart beat so, but it does, and how it does.

*

But all Bryce does is _worry_. It feels as if that is all they can do, worry and worry some more—worry for Alfield and its citizens, worry for an impending attack, worry for someone discovering Caduceus’ true nature—until the unease is like a poison eating them up, seeping into their dreams and terrorizing them into the small hours of the morning.

They spit up blood in a handkerchief right as Caduceus the wolf pads into the room, and aren’t fast enough to hide it. In a matter of seconds he is exploding into his humanoid form with a flurry of limbs and a crack of bone.

“Let me see,” he says, quiet but firm, taking Bryce by the hand to examine the cloth. The blood is dark, almost black, and Bryce doesn’t have a clue what that means, but there is concern in Caduceus’ big, bright eyes.

“You’ll need peppermint,” he tells them straight away, big hand going around Bryce’s as he presses it closed around the damp handkerchief. “Sage and thyme… I can prepare a tea for you. That should soothe your stomach, provided you take it twice a day.”

“How did you know?” Bryce asks quietly. They do not take their hand from Caduceus’.

“My people grow slowly, to better watch over the lands in our care,” Caduceus explains with a soft smile. “I’ve learnt some things in that time.”

“So you have,” says Bryce, pressing a kiss over his knuckles so featherlight it may as well have been left by a ghost. “So you have.”

*

In the morning, the giant boar has claimed its first kill. A crowd has been gathering all day in the town square, hungering for the head of the beast. But the Crownsguard _had_ warned the townspeople of the dangers, especially without adequate protection or numbers; two young hunters had ventured into the woods anyway, and paid for it dearly.

“Do we have to kill it?” asks Caduceus, sitting on the floor beside Bryce’s little desk at home. His long hair looks so clean and soft after his bath that a distracted part of Bryce almost wants to push their fingers through it. “To some degree I can understand hunting for food but this… this is something else entirely, isn’t it?”

“It’s already attacked a number of hunters, leaving some clinging to life,” Bryce reminds him a bit too sharply. They gather their own hair out of their face and tie it back as they continue to attack a report on the pickpockets apprehended that week.

“An eye for an eye then,” Caduceus says coolly. His tone makes the hairs on the back of Bryce’s neck stand up even as they frown.

Oh, but they don’t have the _patience_ for this. “What would you have us do?” Bryce demands, pointing their quill at him questioningly. A bit of ink escapes onto their fingers, cool and wet. “Simply leave it roaming the outskirts of town? Have us live in fear till the end of our days?”

Caduceus hums in thought. “Well, it’s only an animal. With the right handling I’m sure you could lead it where you want. Far, far away from town.”

Bryce scoffs quietly under their breath. Of course Caduceus would have some silly sort of answer. “That wouldn’t sit well with Starosta Kosh, I’m afraid, and we don’t have nearly enough resources to manage a project of that size. _And_ we’d have no way of guaranteeing the boar would stay put wherever we could relocate it either.”

Caduceus just smiles a bit sadly. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

That look, that _hurts_. Surely it isn’t as if Bryce means to hurt Caduceus or his feelings, can’t he see that? “I’m… just trying to do what I think is best. For everyone,” Bryce tells him, softening their words now. “That is all I _ever_ want.”

There’s that humming sound again, like a bow gently pressed across the strings of a violin, as Caduceus leans in and presses his head against Bryce’s knee now. It steals the very breath from their lungs, and all they can do is _stare_ like a fool, because this is so much like their wolf but unlike their wolf. “I know you do. That’s why I’m still coming along for the hunt,” he tells them earnestly, and presses a chaste kiss over their kneecap.

“Oh,” is all Bryce can manage, and he is so close now, so warm and real, that they don’t think anymore on the wolf as they run their trembling fingers over his soft scalp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a new rarepair discord in town so if you'd like to talk about caduceus/bryce (and more!!!) you can join us over [here](https://discord.gg/7S9GuPy).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to lee and jas for reading this over for me!

The sun has just begun to rise by the time Bryce and Caduceus are up and preparing for the hunt. Bryce forgoes their Crownsguard uniform for something far warmer: woollen outer garments, including gloves and a cap, and a hooded leather cloak with a bit of fur to keep out the damp. The effect is somewhat comical, Bryce looking twice their usual size beneath all the padding, and there is still their plated leather armour to don.

“I can help with that,” says Caduceus, soft and sweet, and he carefully lifts the armour from its rack. Bryce holds perfectly still now, allowing him to place the breastplate over their chest and shoulders, his clever fingers finding and fastening each of its buckles. They can barely feel him through all the layers of clothes, but the closeness of him makes Bryce that much warmer, their cheeks glowing as they stare up into his gentle face. 

“You should change too,” Bryce reminds him, and with a nod, Caduceus sheds his clothes and then his skin just as easily, but a moment later standing on all fours as the massive wolf. Immediately he steps closer, nudging at Bryce’s hand with his wet nose, and Bryce can’t help but chuckle and oblige him with pets all over his beautiful grey head. “I suppose I can’t say no, not to you,” Bryce tells him quietly.

How Caduceus’ tail _wags_.

The hunters are already waiting at the eastern edge of town when Bryce and Caduceus arrive. Bryce keeps their distance for the moment, readjusting the straps of their heavy pack as they study the crowd. The usual air of excitement that accompanies a hunt is missing, replaced by something tense and uneasy. After all, this is no ordinary hunt, and many of the men and women gathered today are here to take up arms against the beast that claimed one of their own.

Bryce goes to them now, hand lifted in greeting. “I would wish you all a good morning, but it shan’t be one until we return to town with a boar’s head,” they address the crowd, slipping easily into their Crownsguard voice. The hunters cheer and lift their weapons into the chill morning air.

“Very good,” says Bryce, managing a small smile in return. “Josep, Elyas, Anja—” They point out the most experienced hunters in the pack, and two older men and a young woman with an eyepatch step forward. “—and myself will each lead a hunting party into the woods. You would do well to stay in your group at all times. We don’t need anyone trying to play hero and getting themselves killed now.”

There is a little grumbling at that, but the crowd disperses readily enough, getting into groups without any of the party leaders needing to chase them down like errant schoolchildren. The men closest to Bryce eye Caduceus uncomfortably, no doubt unused to being so close to a wolf, even as “tame” as he is.

Quickly does Bryce’s hand go into his fur, stroking Caduceus behind his ears and making him pant softly. “He’s harmless, no more a threat than your own dogs,” they promise, and Caduceus lets out a quiet bark, running in circles around their legs. This gets a laugh out of the grim men, the tension leaving the lines of their bodies and faces. 

Caduceus, however, isn’t finished playing just yet. Next he gets on his hind legs and hops up to Bryce as if to embrace them, long arms coming to rest on their shoulders, and Bryce groans under his weight, nearly toppling over. Even as a wolf Caduceus is far, far taller than them on two legs.

“Yes, yes, Caduceus, that’s quite enough…” Laughing gently, Bryce runs a gloved hand down his ribs, and it is still far too easy to count them. Caduceus just gives their cheek a long, sloppy lick and falls back into the snow, looking far more pleased with himself than should be possible wearing a wolf’s face.

“Quite a pet you’ve made,” says one of the men, a young man Bryce recognizes as the butcher’s son, Henry. “Seen him about town but this close, why, he’s something else, innit he?”

“That he is,” replies Bryce, a strange little bubble of pride swelling in their chest. “That he is.” 

*

The first day goes by with painful slowness. Bryce’s party has little to show for their hours trekking the snow-covered woods outside Alfield save for wet boots and empty stomachs. With the sun slipping fast below the trees, Bryce decides they had better stop and make camp nearby.

“I still say we go after the beastie,” says Henry, ripping into a strip of dried meat while the fire is being made under the last faint touches of sunlight. “It’s gotta sleep sometime, you know? Perhaps we’d even manage to catch it unawares!”

Bryce shakes their head. “I don’t want to risk more light than we need for a bit of cooking and warmth,” they explain sternly, lest anyone else get an idea of taking off into the night to continue the hunt.

Henry just looks them up and down slowly. “Aye, but you’ve elf blood, haven’t you?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Bryce says sharply, suddenly self-conscious of the way the tips of their long ears stick out under their cap. Caduceus senses their discomfort and comes trotting over, sitting close enough to be pet, and Bryce pulls off a glove to do just that.

“Not a cloud in the sky, and no doubt the moons will be nice and bright,” says Henry, pointing up above their heads. He’s not wrong: the sky is breathtakingly clear, the first and brightest stars beginning to twinkle aloft. “I daresay you could lead us even on the blackest of nights, on account of those elven eyes.”

“Out of the question. Anyone else would be fighting blind if we encounter the boar or… any other unsavoury elements tonight.” As if to drive home their point, a howl, distant but piercing, goes up into the air. All the fur on Caduceus' neck stands up, eyes snapping somewhere in the creeping night beyond Bryce’s night vision. “No, I think we’ll get a bite to eat and a few hours’ rest before we pick up the hunt again, but thank you for your concern.”

“If you say so, Watchmaster,” says Henry, not bothering to hide his displeasure.

For that, Bryce says, not without a touch of a smile, “And you’ll be taking the first watch.”

Henry’s face falls. “Aye, Watchmaster,” he says obediently, dropping his pack to the snow and disappearing just beyond the ring of boulders and trees that form their makeshift camp.

Bryce is glad he doesn’t argue. They’re far too tired for any insubordination this late in the day. Their legs ache fiercely from walking in the snow, and their shoulders are sore from the weight of their pack. They slip it off now and kneel beside it, setting aside their gear for the evening, thinking warmly of sleep and a bright new day.

Caduceus is in far better spirits. Some of the hunters have stopped to watch him bound through the snow, snapping and snarling as he sends clouds of frost and dirt up into the air. It takes Bryce a moment, but finally they spot a rabbit just ahead of him, frantically searching for its lair. A cheer goes up, and Caduceus returns triumphant, a limp rabbit hanging from his mouth.

He drops it proudly at Bryce’s feet, tail wagging hard. The message is undeniably clear: _For you_. 

“Good boy,” says Bryce before they can think better of it. They can feel the blush all the way down to their collarbone. Caduceus stops wagging his tail, staring at them with eyes huge and bright by the firelight. “Good boy,” Bryce repeats, softer now, for his ears only, and Caduceus _whines_.

They hand the rabbit off to be skinned and prepared by another hunter and return to their bedroll, Caduceus close on their heels, nudging curiously at their fingers. Bryce can sense how badly he wishes to change forms, to use his real voice to speak, and just how easy it would be under the cover of the dark; they run their hand down his long back soothingly.

“Another day or two and we can speak again, dear friend,” they promise, and Caduceus seems satisfied enough with this, the tip of his tail beginning to wag again. They lay on their bedroll now and look up at the sky, watching the moons sail slowly above the dark fingers of the bald trees surrounding the camp. Caduceus comes to rest his big head, heavy and warm, on their belly and it is better than any blanket Bryce has ever known. They blink slowly, eyes struggling to stay open, blink again, and the sky is completely black. And then they can stay awake no longer, slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*

Shouts wake Bryce up. They rise in a heartbeat to find the sky just beginning to turn the palest grey. Oh. _Oh no_. No one had woken them for their watch. With a sinking feeling in their belly, they fetch their scabbard from under their bedroll and stagger off toward the noises, muscles stiff and boots slipping in the snow, Caduceus close behind and growling low in his throat.

A man rushes up and grabs them by the shoulders. “Watchmaster, it’s… it’s Henry…” Bryce can _smell_ the blood on him, then their eyes adjust, and, yes, his hands are dark and shiny with it. 

“Take me to him,” says Bryce, words still heavy with sleep. “And explain on the way. Was it the boar?”

The man hurriedly leads them through the woods, the snowy path already packed by many feet. “Aye, Watchmaster. While you… while you slept Henry convinced some of us to continue the hunt. We were strong in numbers but the beast…” His eyes grow cold and hard. “Well, you can see its grisly work for yourself.”

About ten yards ahead stands a group of frantic hunters. There is a long and frightful streak of red in the snow, and on one end lies Henry, motionless save for how another hunter jostles his body as they pack his wounds with rags.

“You stupid, stupid man,” breathes Bryce, hurrying to his side. They kneel in the red snow, taking some of the rags to help the hunter stuff his wounds, but still the blood comes pouring out between their fingers. “We need more,” says Bryce at once. “More and more. Keep packing until no more goes in. Then pack some more.”

The hunters begin tearing through their packs for anything to use as gauze. Bryce leaves them to it now, rubbing a bit of snow between their palms to clean their bloody gloves as they stand. “Leave two with Henry, and send another two back to town to fetch a cart,” they tell the ring of hunters, voice stronger and calmer than their pounding heart feels. “He’s not to be moved otherwise, are we clear?”

The men nod gloomily in understanding.

“The rest of you…” Bryce’s hand goes to their sword, unsheathing half its length. The blade glints in the early morning light. “Keep your weapons close. The boar is near.”

*

The cold foreboding that had been lurking in Bryce’s stomach since that morning only grows stronger as they chase after the boar. This deep in the woods there are signs of its presence everywhere: huge tusk marks on the trees, broken branches, fresh spoor in the freezing snow. Caduceus has his nose to the ground, wildly sniffing in ever wider circles for the trail. With a sudden snarl, he breaks into a run and disappears into a large clump of trees.

“Caduceus! No!” cries Bryce, both in fear and frustration. Like a fool, they leave the hunters at their side and go crashing into the trees after him, branches raking across their cheeks and leaving lines of fresh blood. “We must stay together!”

But Caduceus comes skidding to a halt just ahead of them, for a moment lost in the plume of snow and rocks that flies up in his wake. Standing before him is the largest boar, nay, the largest _creature_ Bryce has ever seen. The giant boar is covered in dark brown, almost black fur, broken arrows sticking from its thick, scarred hide. Tall as a man, with tusks as long and sharp as swords, Bryce remembers, and fears like any heart would fear when faced with a monster. 

And this monster’s beady eyes are trained on the wolf.

“Come away, Caduceus…” says Bryce, so soft they can barely hear their own words in their throat. Their hand is shaking ever so slightly as it reaches for the longsword buckled at their hip. “We’ll get help and—”

The boar has other ideas. It snorts, its breath a white cloud, and charges at Caduceus, who snaps his teeth and narrowly dodges those wicked tusks. Heart in their throat, Bryce pulls their sword free and circles closer. _Damn_ the boar and _damn_ Caduceus, the foolish firbolg. After all their lecturing about strength of numbers, and here is Bryce facing down a deadly giant boar with only a werewolf at their side.

They step on a fallen branch and freeze as the crack resounds through the forest like a bolt of lightning. The boar’s head swings in their direction now, snorting wildly, and then it charges them, too. Bryce rolls to the side but thrusts their blade up at the passing beast, letting its momentum ram the tip of their sword deep in its shoulder. But… Bryce cannot pull the sword loose. They give it a desperate tug, loathe to part with it and be unarmed in the rest of the battle, and still, nothing. Hot blood pulses from the wound, spraying their hands and face.

The boar lets out a terrible scream, a piercing cry of pain and hatred as it whips around and around, dragging Bryce with it like a ragdoll.

 _Just let go!_ Let go of the bloody sword, Bryce shouts at themself, but their hands are frozen in fear now, and they cannot see for the blood and gritty snow in their eyes. A hoof suddenly comes down on their arm, and Bryce screams as the bones snap like twigs under the immense weight and strength of the boar, hot white pain shooting through their entire body, their hands flying off the sword’s hilt as they roll away in wild desperation.

There is a terrible roar, not like anything Bryce has ever heard, something deep and primal that makes the pit of their stomach grow hard and cold as a winter’s stone, and a blur of grey and white goes catapulting past them and knocking into the boar. Its huge jaws sink into the boar’s thick neck, blood spraying wildly, claws digging in for purchase as it climbs atop the great beast.

Bryce takes this strange and blessed opportunity to crawl to safety, clutching their broken arm to their chest as they push slowly through the snow and take cover behind some low rocks. Then they remember the crossbow strapped to their back. Of course! How could they have forgotten! It’s hard going unbuckling it with one arm, but they manage after several painful minutes, keeping one eye on the two wild beasts locked in battle. Harder still to load the damn thing, shoving the bolt down its barrel groove with a shaking, bloody hand.

As they watch the boar try to buck the strange grey creature off its back, there is a moment where Bryce deliberates which to take aim at, a blind fear clutching at their heart: the wild boar or the man-shaped monstrosity. They shut one eye, take a deep breath, and squeeze the crossbow’s trigger. Their aim is true, the bolt striking the boar above its eye with a crunch of bone rather than its nearly impenetrable hide. Bryce hurriedly prepares a second bolt, but the boar begins to flag, stomping weakly in the snow drenched in its own blood. The beastman snarls and bites deeper, its horrible maw stained with fresh red, dragging the great boar to the ground until it, taking one final breath, shudders and stills.

Now Bryce is alone with the grey creature. Hot breath billowing, it advances on them slowly, taller and wider than a gnoll, features marred by a giant wolf-like head, a long and powerful tail arcing from its hide. Blood drips from its huge mouth and claws, claws that it raises up to Bryce as if to slash at them. So they take aim again, their sights over the beast’s heart, and the creature makes a low, guttural noise that almost, _almost_ sounds like their name. Bryce lets the bolt fly, watching with a chilled satisfaction as it strikes the beast square in the chest with a wet _thunk_ , causing it to stagger back.

“ _Bryce_ ,” it rumbles in an impossibly deep voice, strange and raw as if its vocal cords can barely manage speech, and then easily wrenches the bolt from its flesh with a spurt of blood as if it were a child’s toy. “No more.”

And in that moment it hits Bryce that Caduceus is nowhere to be seen, has been missing throughout the entire battle. Part of them had hoped he had fled, perhaps even went to get help. But. “No,” they murmur as the realization washes over them in a sickening wave. “It cannot be…”

The beast sinks to its haunches just a few feet from them and begins to lick its bloodied paws with an air of distaste.

“Caduceus?” they croak, hardly daring to believe. They cough then, feeling the coldness in their lungs and the pain throbbing anew up their arm, making their vision pulse darkly around the edges. The creature looks up, staring back at them with large, intelligent eyes. All too familiar eyes. “What… are you?”

“Werewolf…” Caduceus says slowly, as if it almost pains him. He shuffles closer on all fours, as if he can’t help but be as close to Bryce as possible even when they look at him with fear and disgust. “Has many forms.”

“Ah,” says Bryce, as if that makes perfect sense, and then their head falls forward in a faint of exhaustion and pain, the world growing black around them.


End file.
